


Sherlollipops - All The World's A Stage

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [40]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Stage!lock, Uni!lock, slightly cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 21:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2284914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>queenofthemorgue on tumblr said: "we're the only ones who didn't get the email about class being canceled" au - Sherlolly writers please</p><p>And this is what my mind came up with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - All The World's A Stage

Molly Hooper huffed in exasperation as she skidded to a stop on the stage Professor Bells had reserved for rehearsals. How could she possibly be the first one here after she'd been late getting up this morning? Even though she'd hurried through her changing - which thankfully hadn't taken long since her costume for this scene consisted of nothing but a white cotton nightgown over her knickers - she'd still cursed every second spent. Finger combing her hair - the modern-day reinterpretation of 'Peter Pan' called for it to be down and loose, thank goodness for that as well! - she gave another huff of annoyance and plopped herself down on the edge of the stage, leaning back on her hands and swinging her legs as she waited for the professor and the rest of the class to show up.

As she did so, her thoughts drifted to her co-star in this play. Sherlock was an amazing actor, and she wasn't ashamed to admit how much she enjoyed their scenes together. Particularly the semi-nude love scenes this version of the classic play called for. Sherlock had a body to die for, and the intellect to go with it. If only he wasn't so condescending most of the time - she couldn't count the number of people he called idiots, although she was smugly aware she wasn't one of them - he would be the perfect package in one fantastic form. His eyes alone were worth any amount of sarcasm or prima donna behavior, she thought as she remembered the last time they'd rehearsed together. And his lips; although the kisses never got truly steamy in the Hollywood sense, his lips were still full and sensuous and she longed to see how he tasted, to slip her tongue...

"Knock it off, Molly Hooper!" she admonished herself as she looked around guiltily. Nope, no one was there yet, but the blush on her cheeks wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

She just hoped everyone else would show up and distract her from her inappropriate - and probably unwelcome - thoughts about Sherlock Holmes.

oOo

Sherlock Holmes was annoyed. He didn't care if he was late, but what he did care about was the ridiculous costume he'd been assigned to wear for Professor Bells' reimagining of the play "Peter Pan" as an exploration of burgeoning sexuality between teenaged versions of Pan and Wendy. Yes, in the original story the character wore a sort of loincloth of leaves rather than the more Robin Hood-esque clothing that animated version had put him in, but since none of the rest of the script clung to anything even vaguely approaching a reverence for canon, why the hell had she insisted on this?

He glared at his reflection in the changing room mirror, arms crossed across his chest as he took in the ludicrous sight of himself wearing what looked to his eyes like an oversized diaper of fake leaves that barely hugged his hips. Yes, there was an ivy-vine that attached over one shoulder and partially concealed his chest, but that was it. No shoes, no socks, no shirt, nothing else but an equally ridiculous crown of ivy leaves on his head. 

He hated dress rehearsals. Regular rehearsals were tolerable, technical rehearsals were tolerable, but dress rehearsals...ugh. He made a face at himself, knowing that everyone else thought well of his looks and physique, but all he ever saw were the flaws. "Horse faced and arse named," he muttered, then rolled his eyes and turned away from his image. Too pale, too tall, and all too often too damn smart for his own good. He wished he were more like his brother Mycroft - well, he thought with a smirk as he shut off the light - not in the physique department. Fatty had slimmed down quite a bit once he started working for the government, but Sherlock still took every opportunity to taunt him about his weight; after all, that's what brothers did, right? No, it was Mycroft's ability to not care what anyone outside the immediate family thought of him that Sherlock envied. 

Theater was the only place Sherlock felt at home, comfortable in his own skin - but never at dress rehearsals. Those first semi-public appearances in full costume always made him screamingly self-conscious, even though he knew it was ridiculous. But when wearing something as revealing as his faux-leaves and vines, he felt even more vulnerable than usual.

By the time he reached the stage and pushed his way through the curtains, he'd worked himself into his usual temper, the one he displayed to cover up his (temporary, always temporary, thank god) insecurity. The one people mistakenly identified as 'artistic temperament' and therefore were more forgiving of.

His growing ire, however, became puzzlement as he realized there was only one other person either on the stage or in the small theater that Professor Bells had reserved for their rehearsals. At least that other person - Molly Hooper, the Wendy to his Peter Pan - was also in costume, making him feel a bit less self-conscious. He deliberately slowed his pace, sauntering across the stage before dropping down to sit next to her. "It appears we missed the email," he said by way of opening up a conversation with her.

Molly was a bit of an enigma to him; she'd easily confessed to having a love of the sciences and maths, with the theater coming in at best a distant third on her list of passions, and yet she was also the most gifted student in their class. Not the most beautiful or the most graceful; too many people dismissed her looks as ordinary...until they saw her take on a role. No matter what role, no matter how big or how small, she completely owned it. Sherlock wasn't humble about his own talents, but he was in awe of her own.

And yet she had no idea of how utterly enchanting she was under the footlights. She was actually in awe of _him_ , he'd discovered, although he simply couldn't fathom why. His looks, perhaps, although he was used to being admired and rarely cared for the compliments he received in that department.

"What email?" she asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. He blinked and stared at her blankly for a moment before remembering what she was talking about.

"The one cancelling rehearsal, of course," he said, waving a hand around to indicate the darkened front of the house and complete lack of other cast and crew members. "I was late, you were late - you must have come in while I was changing - and yet no one else is here. Ergo, an email that we didn't get, cancelling the rehearsal for today. Possibly Professor Bells had another 'urgent appointment' to attend to," he added with a smirk.

Molly grinned back; their professor was a wonderful woman but if her husband happened to be in town unexpectedly - he was an airline pilot - she would inevitably concoct some excuse to cancel class so she could meet up with him. Sherlock had been the one to deduce the connection, of course, but Molly had also deduced it at some point, which had impressed him even more than her acting skills. "Oh well," she sighed, swinging her legs and dropping her head back on her shoulders, "I suppose we should go change, then."

He glanced down at her petite form, and felt a sudden dryness invade his mouth as he realized he could see her nipples through the thin cotton fabric of her nightgown. He shifted a bit, for once glad of the leaves sewn to the green pants that were the basis of his own costume; they hid a sudden physiological reaction he was now having.

Impulsively he reached out and laid his hand on her wrist when she made to rise; surprised, she turned to look at him. "We could have a...private rehearsal," he said, his voice huskier than normal. "After all, we do share a lot of scenes together."

Molly's eyes were wide, her pupils dark in the circles of her brown irises; as he watched, the darkness expanded to nearly devour the brown. "I guess we could," she murmured, turning to face him. "Do you have a particular scene in mind?"

He swallowed - not nervously damn it! - and nodded, moving his hand down so that it rested on top of her much smaller one. "The kiss," he said, inching his face closer to hers.

"One of my favorites," Molly confessed, her free hand cupping his cheek. "And not just because it's so well written," she added with a smile, just as her lips met his.

The kiss was the first between Wendy and Peter, and was meant to be chaste and innocent, 'but with subtle overtones of lust' as Professor Bells so frequently admonished them.

Well, Sherlock thought dazedly as Molly's tongue slipped into his mouth, to be eagerly met by his own, at least we got the 'lust' part right. Then his ability to think completely short-circuited; his arms were around her body, holding her close to his, and he could hardly wait to get her out of that bloody, stupid, oversized and entirely inconvenient nightgown.

Judging by the impatient way she was tugging at his leaves, Molly was just as eager as he was.  


Not getting that email, was Sherlock's last coherent thought for a delightful half-hour, was the best thing that could have happened to him.

oOo

"So, wait, you mean to tell me you purposefully left Molly and Sherlock's names off the email you sent?" Mr. Bells demanded, lips turning up in a delighted grin as they reached their modest home.

His wife parked the car and nodded, her answering grin just as delighted. "And if things go the way I think they will, then those two lovebirds will finally admit how they feel about one another!" Her grin morphed into a slight frown, and she tilted her head consideringly. "Or else they'll end up shagging on the stage."

Her husband shrugged. "Either way, sweetie, you did your best to help them out." He leered and waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he reached for his car door. "Why don't we go inside and see if we can block out their potential movements?"

And thus two pairs of lovers enjoyed the afternoon in much the same manner.


End file.
